all we were before was just two lost nomads, been traveling to different places and searching for the right warmth of one’s embraces. and through that exploration, on our skin, lies terrible scars and frightening bruises for they were left behind by the doer and wasn’t healed even just a little.

the only reason why am i a nomadic is because even though i know that perfect love never exists, i still want to look for one and take a lot of risks. i just keep on searching for something long extinct, no matter how many would call me pathetic.

and maybe for once, i should believe that an awful adventure leads to a worthy treasure. because at the beach, our dark brown eyes met as we walked by, looking for a good spot to stare at the sunset as it bids its goodbye.

you revealed all your scars and i showed you my bruises. we told each other our stories, on how we got them and what might be the reason of their existence. because isn’t that what love is? understanding every bit of your marks and all of your scars; telling us stories of what makes you what you are.

and our love was all beautiful and lovely, but not that perfect at all. because i added a few more scars and you gave me a lot more bruises. it caused the labyrinth inside me let out a cold rage and a great wave of melancholy — but at the same time, i am calmer than the calmest, because i know that after this, we will heal all the hurt and acknowledge all of our wrongs; we will water our garden’s withered plants and bloom again when the morning has come.

love is never perfect, and i knew we stopped looking for one, when we both jumped inside the well of cupid — risking every doubt and every fear, if it means that we’ll get to love each other more.

sometimes you hurt me and other times i do too; that‘s where we learn from what we have done and to forgive is the last thing we’ll ever do. but love can be perfect sometimes, and this is what i call one.

just love me more today

and forever, i will love you the most.